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Saturday, June 16, 2018

PROMO: Snafu Fubar: Nothing Heroic


Adult Humor
Date Published: Oct 2016

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*****WARNING*****
If you are easily offended, then this is NOT the book for you. Please put it down and back away slowly. However, if you have a warped sense of humor, please read on.

In the town of Lost Hope, Florida reside two heroes unlike any others. These champions of justice go by the names of Snafu Fubar and General Nuisance. Nightly they patrol their fine city to protect it from evil's grasp. And by 'patrol' we mean they sit on a porch, appropriately nicknamed 'The Fucking Nuisance Cave', drinking beers, smoking cigars, and talking about sex.


Excerpt


   Meanwhile, across the street from the trailer park, in a convenience store that General Nuisance and Snafu Fubar frequented, a robber had just entered, brandishing a pistol.  He pointed it at the clerk behind the counter, a young boy who had not yet reached legal drinking age and who still had a zit party in full swing on his chubby face. “Put your hands in the air and give me the money!” The clerk looked confused for a moment and then shrugged.

    “I can’t do both.”

    “Huh...what?”

   The clerk rolled his eyes. “I can’t put my hands in the air and give you the money.”

    “Fine. Put one hand in the air and hand me the money with the other one.” The robber gestured with the gun.

   “OK, which hand?”

    “Right…no, wait a minute. Left.”

    “Left hand up or left hand get the money?”

     The robber banged his head against the counter three times and glared at the clerk. “Left hand get the money.”

    Ding Ding.

      The robber and clerk both looked toward the store's door, through which a female customer had just entered. She was blond, with a great body and nice rack, but her face was ugly as sin. “Can I get twenty on pump five?”

    The robber stepped towards her, motioning with the gun. “Lie down on the floor now!”

   “What? Really? Have you seen this floor? I’d probably have a higher chance of survival if you just shoot me. I think I’ll take my chances!”

    The robber glanced down at the floor. “OK. Point taken. Just sit on the floor.”

    “Really wish I hadn’t picked today to wear stilettos and this damn mini skirt with no panties,” griped the customer. “I mean, if I’m going to catch an STD, I really wanted to do it the fun way.” She looked about as graceful as a giraffe on roller skates as she tried several maneuvers to get down on the floor without giving the clerk and the robber their own private peep show.



    General Nuisance met Snafu in the parking lot of the convenience store. They did the handshake, the fist bump, the high five, the gang sign, the chest bump and the butt slap — to which they both said in unison, “NO GO HOMO!” This, of course, made it perfectly acceptable for two grown men to slap each other on the ass.

    “Do you see what I see?” General Nuisance pointed into the convenience store that held his beloved beer.

    “Yeah, some idiot sitting on a disease ridden floor.  Hope she knows there are more enjoyable ways to catch an STD.”

    “I agree, but I wasn’t talking about her. Look again…a robber!”

     “Cool! You wanna hand out some Bronze Age justice?”

       General Nuisance poked his friend in the arm. “I got one better...Iron Age justice, huh, huh?”

    “Oh, that’s just stupid! What did the Iron Age have that the Bronze Age didn’t?”

    “Really? Asia was smelting tin and brass by then…you can’t top that. What was your Bronze Age doing? Cave men were still circle jerking on dinosaurs' corpses.”

     “That’s the Stone Age, you idiot.” Snafu shook his head. “You can be so dumb at times.”

      While Snafu Fubar and General Nuisance debated over the kind of justice they were going to hand out, things inside the store took a bizarre turn.

     “Man, my drawer is gonna be off. I’m gonna have to overcharge all my customers tonight,” the clerk whined as he looked down at his till.

     “Shut up! Just get the money,” screamed the robber.

   “I don’t feel so well,” said the female customer, whose face was now a sickly shade of green. She burped once then farted. A moment later, she puked all over the floor and shit herself.

     “Crap! Now I’m going to have to mop the floor and man, I was really hoping to leave that for the morning shift. I mean I could kind of push everything under the candy counter. There’s a good chance no one would notice and I could just place a wet floor sign where she is at. Yeah…the more I think about it, I’m pretty sure that would work.”

      “Oh my God! Why are you taking so long?” The robber pointed the gun at the clerk again.

     The store's door swung open. Loud rock music blared as Snafu and General Nuisance entered the store. “I’m here to kick some ass and hand out –“, Snafu sighed, “Industrial Revolution era justice!”

     “See?!? Was that so hard?” General Nuisance asked with a smile.

      The robber grabbed the clerk by his shirt collar. “This is why you should have moved faster. Both of you get down on the ground now…or the clerk dies.”

       General Nuisance and Snafu both looked down at the female customer who was now shaking and in the midst of some kind of convulsion. “Yeah, that’s just not going to happen,” Snafu said.

    “Son, put the gun down.” General Nuisance spoke as calmly as a man being threatened with sitting on a disease-ridden floor could speak.

    “How about I shoot you?!” screamed the frustrated robber as he pointed the gun first at General Nuisance then at Snafu.

     “Yeah, shoot those costumed freaks!” chimed in the clerk.

      “You stay out of this!” the robber yelled at the clerk.

     “Why are you rooting for the robber?” asked Snafu.

     “I don’t know…just seemed like we were connecting…I don’t get a lot of social interaction here.”

     The robber looked back and forth between the costumed vigilantes and the clerk. “Shit! I don’t know who to shoot first!”

     “Please God, let it be me! Bleck!” said the customer on the floor as she puked again.

     “Well, while you decide that, I’m going to grab a Slushee,” Snafu said as he strolled toward the back of the store.

     “Yeah. Me too. Let’s grab the beer and some beef jerky while we’re at it,” General Nuisance said as he patted the robber on the shoulder and walked past him.

     The robber snatched the money from the clerk's hand and ran out of the store. “Ya’ll are fuckin’ crazy!”

     The clerk, looking as though he'd just lost his best friend or a beloved pet, leaned over the edge of the counter.

     “Call me...I mean if you want to hang out or something,” the clerk yelled as the robber made his escape. When he didn’t get a response, the clerk slumped back against his stool.

     “They never call.”



About the Author


Bob Dixon is a two-time Guinness World Record holder for the World's Longest Cartoon Strip. He is the author and creator of a number of comic book titles for Pocket Change Comics, including Assassinette: The Mind Stalker, Psyco Duck, Jester's Dead, The Holy Knight, Riplash, Shadow Slasher, and Warzone 3719. Bob has written two children books, Rooty the Tree Troll and Holiday Bunny; two young adult books, Mouch and Company: The Dream Psychic and Rags and Ruins; An adult humor book Snafu Fubar : Nothing Heroic; and is the co-author of Will Jones' biography A Tough Call. Bob is also the Writer/Director of the movie Dr. Prozak's Office. Additionally, he is a certified special education teacher who works with children who have autism and intellectual delays.


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Twitter: @authorbobdixon



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Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Blog Tour: The Place Where We Belong







General Literary Fiction /Self-Help Fiction
Date Published: March, 2018

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Why is starting over so complicated? After an amicable divorce, Tamara is ready to move on. She has loving friends, a meaningful job and a comfortable life. And yet, while everything seems to be in its correct place, she has the distinct feeling that nothing is as it should be. Feeling like she is losing control, Tamara struggles to answer a really difficult question: what does she really want? The Place Where We Belong is a novel about self-acceptance, belonging, friendship and love.



EXCERPT

The next day at the Nest, I am doing paperwork in my office. Miriam is cooking up a storm in our tiny kitchenette. Smells of couscous and soup waft through the apartment. She brings me some steaming tea with mint leaves, lemon and honey. “You look like you need this, sweetheart,” she says. “Come and talk to me when you are done.”
“I sure will,” I say. “I just have to sift through some things before rush hour. Rush hour is when the kids come to the Nest after the school day is done. My phone rings. I don’t recognize the caller.
“Hi,” I say, “Tamara speaking.”
“Hi Tamara,” an accented voice speaks to me. “It turns out that I am more impatient than I thought.”
“Who is this?” I ask.
“It is Mike. You rammed into me on the sand the other day on the beach.” The guy from the restaurant.
“I didn’t ram into you: we bumped into each other,” I respond.
“Whatever. I am sure Freud wouldn’t agree. There are no coincidences.”
“I refuse to argue over this.”
“Then don’t, let’s just discuss it like two adults. Over some ice cream.”
“Ice cream?”
“You don’t eat ice cream? That is going to be a problem for me.”
“Of course I eat ice cream. Everyone eats ice cream.”
“Good, so it’s settled.”
“What’s settled?”
“We meet tonight at ten o’ clock.”
“Tonight at ten o’ clock, I will be sleeping.”
“You can sleep another time; tonight we eat ice cream.”
“Don’t you have a restaurant to run?”
“I don’t have to be there all the time, but thanks for your concern.”
“Have I given you any reason to think that I am interested in you?”
“None whatsoever.”
“So why are you doing this?”
“I like a challenge. I like to break down resistance. So will you be there?”
“I don’t know where ‘there’ is. I don’t know.”
“I will send you the address. See you later.” Mike hangs up.

About the Author



R. K. Mayer was born in Cape Town, South Africa. She has been a teacher, a technical writer and a product manager. Her most short-lived job was in a clothes shop, where she lasted a grand total of two and a half hours. Her last "real job" was being a manager of some wonderful people across the globe, as well as being a lead and advocate for digital transformation in the software industry. Since leaving the corporate world, she is now a Change Management consultant, blogger, novelist and a serial volunteer in her community. In her novels, R. K. Mayer combines her understanding and perspective about how people are affected by change, and her love for storytelling.

R. K. Mayer lives in Israel with her husband and three children. Her latest novel is "The Place Where We Belong." Her first published novel was: "The Perfection of the Glass Lemons."

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PROMO: The Busy Moms Guide to Writing


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Self-Help
Publisher: Fayette Press
Date Published: 03/30/2018

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Are you a busy mom who loves to write, but doesn't know where to start? This easy-to-read guide by two bestselling, award-winning authors will help you make your writing dreams a reality.

From finding time to write, to showing you how to get your kids involved, Jamie Foley and Angela Castillo (who happen to be busy moms themselves) will give you the resources--and the encouragement--you need.

This book will:
- Help you plan out your writing goals, time management, and financial budget
- Encourage you to enlist aid from the right people--critique partners, editors, cover designers, and more
- Guide you to making the best decision for you regarding independent and traditional publishing
- Give you questions to ask yourself at the end of each chapter to help you move closer to your writing dreams
- Steer you away from common mistakes


Excerpt

Supper should have been started half an hour ago, and a pile of laundry waits for you on the couch (well, it used to--now the kids have flung the clothes across the room in a free-for-all sock fight). Your baby is crying, and your oldest kid is yelling something about a science fair project being due tomorrow.

But what are you thinking about? A roving mercenary princess in your own made up land--the land of Flynn. You’ve dreamed about this land, pretended to live in it yourself. And more than anything, you want to write about it.

Your little girl grabs hold of your leg with sticky fingers. “Mommy, when are we going to have supper? I’m hungry, Mommy!”

If you’re feeling tempted to check your home for a hidden camera, the reason we know these things is because we are there. We have nights like this on a continual basis. Yet between both of us, we have fifteen published books (and three collections). These books help to generate an income to help with grocery money and even, sometimes, the mortgage payment. Writing and Momming can happen! At the same time!



What this book will do:

·         Help you plan out your writing goals and time management

·         Give you tools to do your personal best when it comes to writing

·         Steer you away from mistakes we’ve made

·         Encourage you to enlist aid from the right people--critique partners, editors, cover designers, and more

·         Help you create a time budget, as well as a financial budget, so you don’t go overboard

·         Guide you to making the best decision for you regarding independent and traditional publishing

·         Give you questions to ask yourself (and hopefully answer!) at the end of each chapter to help you move closer to your writing dreams



What this book won’t do:

·         Teach you how to write a New York Times bestseller (if you find a book that can do this, let us know)

·         Tell you to neglect your family in order to write

·         Expect you to have a ten-thousand-dollar budget for your first book

·         Tell you how to come up with writing ideas. There are countless other writing prompt books available out there. We figure if you picked up this book, you probably have ideas buzzing around in your head already and are looking for a way to let them out.

·         Give you a magic formula to make millions of dollars with your books (we don’t believe such a thing exists, but maybe. Of course, unicorns might exist too…)



About the Authors

Angela Castillo

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Angela Castillo loves living in the small town of Bastrop Texas, and draws much of her writing inspiration from life there. She loves to walk in the woods and shop in the local stores. Castillo studied Practical Theology and Music at Christ for the Nations in Dallas, Texas. She was home-schooled all through high school and is the oldest of 7 kids. Castillo's greatest joys are her little girl and two boys. Castillo has been published in The First Line, Aardvark's Ark, Heartwarmers, Thema, and several other publications, and also has works available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle format.


Jamie Foley

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Jamie Foley loves strategy games, home-grown berries, and Texas winters. She's terrified of plot holes and red wasps.

Her husband is her manly cowboy astronaut muse. They live between Austin, TX and their family cattle ranch, where their hyperactive spawnling and wolfpack can run free.





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Giveaway

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Anyone who signs up for our newsletter HERE

will get a copy of “50 Websites Every Author Should Know”

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Tuesday, June 12, 2018

PROMO: Jane's Baby


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Thriller
Date Published: June 1, 2018
Publisher: Intrigue Publishing

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Whatever happened to Jane Roe's baby? Norma McCorvey, of Caddo-Comanche heritage, did not terminate the pregnancy that led her to become the anonymous plaintiff of the landmark U.S. Supreme Court women's rights case Roe v Wade because in 1971, when the motion was first argued, abortion in the U.S. was illegal. The Jane Roe real-life child would now be a woman in her late forties, the potential of her polarizing celebrity unknown to her. A religious rights splinter group has blackmailed its way into learning the identity of the Roe baby, the product of a closed adoption. To what end, only a new Supreme Court case will reveal. Tourette's-afflicted K9 bounty hunter Judge Drury, a Marine, stands in the way of the splinter group's attempt at stacking the Supreme Court via blackmail, murder, arson, sleight of hand, and secret identities.



About the Author

“The thing I write will be the thing I write.” Chris wouldn’t trade his northeast Philadelphia upbringing of street sports played on blacktop and concrete, fistfights, brick and stone row houses, and twelve years of well-intentioned Catholic school discipline for a Philadelphia minute (think New York minute but more fickle and less forgiving). He’s had lengthy stops as an adult in Michigan and Connecticut, thinks Pittsburgh is a great city even though some of his fictional characters don’t, and now lives in Doylestown, PA. He’s married, the father of two, is a grandfather, still does all his own stunts, and he once passed for Chip Douglas of My Three Sons TV fame on a Wildwood, NJ boardwalk. As C.G. Bauer he’s also the author of SCARS ON THE FACE OF GOD, an EPIC Awards runner-up for best in 2010 eBook horror, and the editor of the CRAPPY SHORTS short story collections.



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Thursday, June 7, 2018

PROMO: The Offspring



Contemporary Fiction
Date Published: April 2018
Publisher: Page Publishing



The Offspring is a gripping narrative filled with convoluted schemes and a secret that destroyed so many lives.

Terrifying family secrets have plagued Hughie Decker for as long as he can remember. Now, just as his life and career have finally begun to make strides, a seemingly innocent story from his hometown newspaper leaves Decker with no choice. He must return to his boyhood home to confront the horrid truth that destroyed so many lives.






Excerpt


Prologue

He could not bring himself to open the door. It felt much safer to remain inside, even though the air was oppressively warm and cloying. He glanced through the windshield to that spot, to where he knew he must go. He took a deep breath. Steeling his resolve, he opened the door and stepped down to the ground. He took another deep breath then forced himself to walk through the trees to near the water’s edge. He looked around. Considering the years that had passed since he last stood on this spot, some things obviously had changed, and yet there was an eerie sameness to the place. Despite the heat, a shiver ran up his spine. He did not belong here, but remain he must, even though he felt like an intruder. Sutter’s Pool looked the worse for wear. Some trees had toppled over and lay barren. Twists of bark peeled from the trunks and only desiccated brown leaves clung to splintered branches. He looked up at the one exception to the ravages of time and neglect, the one unfortunate constant: that magnificent giant elm, towering before him, more majestic than ever, and still rooted firmly to that spot in a contrasting effusion of glorious green splendor. High above, a burst of sunlight illuminated a short length of rope. It was secured to the limb by a large slipknot, its dangling end tattered and worn. As he stared at it, memories, or what he imagined to be memories (for he was not here when that most tragic of events happened) swirled in his head like a swarm of wasps bent on revenge. Slowly, as the wind picked up, the dangling rope flicked in lazy circles, gaining momentum in the frenzy of its own macabre dance.

The sky, only a moment before the essence of cerulean blue, clouded over, not in portentous gray but hazy-like, as if seen through the gauze of time. The breeze slowed, but its effect could still be heard through the gently rustling leaves of the elm. As the man lost him- self in the hypnotic swing of the threads of dangling rope, suddenly a voice rang out. No, two voices. Two male voices. Their laughter trilled through the afternoon air, joyous in abandon, epitomizing all that is carefree youth. The sounds swayed back and forth overhead, like that piece of rope, as if tethered to a giant pendulum. Suddenly there came a loud splash—kuh-thunk-kuh!—and the man turned toward the pond just as a boy’s torso broke the surface with a powerful thrust. How he managed to laugh without swallowing mouthfuls of water was a wonder. The boy swept the waves of hair from his eyes and pointed to his left. “I bet you can’t beat that somersault, little brother!” The man turned to see another boy, this one a few years younger than the valiant swimmer, standing near the water’s edge. The younger boy was trying in vain to grab hold of the swinging rope. The man looked up to see a rope swing knotted to that same limb high above where moments before had hung only a remnant. In a desperate attempt to catch the rope swing, the younger boy lunged too far and awkwardly cartwheeled into the pond. He clumsily pulled himself onto the bank, while the older brother effortlessly treaded water and was laughing hysterically. “Oh, yeah?” cried the younger boy, picking up a clod of dirt. “Incoming torpedo! Fire one!” he yelled, whipping it at the cackling swimmer. But the older one was too fast and jackknifed below as the dirt bomb splattered harmlessly on the surface. The boy picked up another clod and waited for his brother to come up for air. But he didn’t. The boy waited. The seconds ticked by. “Come on, Tommy, quit it. Here. I’m throwing the dirt bomb away.” And he did. “Game’s over, okay?” Still nothing. He knew his brother was a strong swimmer, but the boy grew worried. “Tommy!” 

Then, as if driven by a monstrous clap of thunder, the sky grew dark. Only there was no thunder, for it had become eerily quiet. The man called out to the young boy, who seemed not to hear. Suddenly, as if someone had opened a door to a wind tunnel, a mighty gust began to race around the perimeter of the pond. The man looked to the water’s surface, but still no sign of the swimmer. Fearing the worst, he called out again to the other boy. “Don’t worry, son, I’ll save your brother!” The man turned quickly toward the boy, but he had vanished. He was nowhere to be found. Just then, the water broke and the swimmer surfaced, desperately gasping for air. The man called to the swimmer, who, like his younger brother, seemed oblivious of the man. In a frightening instant, the entire pond began to churn, first swirling about in eddies then merging into a singular, violent whirlpool. The circle tightened around the struggling boy, closing ever so quickly in diameter as the rotation and froth gained momentum. It tightened further like the giant, unforgiving iris of a massive camera lens. The current escalated, engulfing the boy’s legs like so much quicksand, pulling him down, ever down. The man tried to run to the water’s edge to save the drowning boy, but he could not move. It was as if his feet were cemented into the soggy ground. He watched in sheer helplessness as the swimmer was sucked deep into the swirling abyss. The water closed over the brown curls of hair, swallowing its prey as the pond slowly returned to deceitful serenity. 

And then he saw them, right where the younger boy had stood begging for his brother to break to the surface. The man’s mouth went dry as if filled with sand, his escalating pulse threatening to burst his throbbing heart. He squinted through the gauze of light to see lying on the ground a lifeless body—no, a dead body. A young black man knelt over the prostrate form, his hand cradling a rock splotched with gray pulp and dripping with blood. Both figures were drenched as if they had been tossed overboard into a turbulent sea or perhaps the raging pond that had swallowed the swimmer. Droplets of blood and gore fell from the rock onto the corpse as blotches of red spread over its clothes in a nightmarish version of a Jackson Pollock canvas. The black man slowly turned his head toward the intruder, his eyes seeming to glow like the fires of hell; he stood, never taking his eyes away yet tightening his hold on the bloody rock, which now resembled an oversize sticky softball. Slowly the black man (on closer look, was he merely a teenager?) began his approach, feet pulling from the ground’s suction in steady cadence. Stumbling backward, the intruder raised his hands in defense and croaked, “No, oh god, no. I couldn’t save him. I tried, but I couldn’t!” The man tripped, falling onto his back. He shut his eyes in an effort to escape the terror before him. There he lay, waiting for the rock to split his skull open when . . . nothing. No sound of approaching feet, no thudding of his own heartbeat. Nothing. He froze, afraid to open his eyes lest he see a hovering figure, the rock mercilessly poised to come crashing down. The smell of grass was unexpectedly sweet, powerfully sweet in fact, and oddly comforting. He slid a hand across his wet brow, fearing the moisture was his own blood. Slowly he opened his eyes. No blood. Lifting onto his elbows, he looked around. The black man (boy?) was gone. The dead body was gone. In its place the grass was dry, sparse blades waving gently in a reluctant breeze. Looking upward, the sky appeared to have returned to normal. Then he saw the dangling piece of rope lit softly once again by dappled sunlight. The man staggered to his feet. 

“Well, there’s trouble,” he heard from behind. The startled man whirled to confront that voice from his past.




About the Author


While teaching in a university theatre department, Pinnell accumulated both local and national awards for teaching excellence. He was a theatre director, designer and scenic artist, and also authored three textbooks and two plays. THE OFFSPRING is his first novel.



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Wednesday, June 6, 2018

PROMO: Outfoxing the Gaming Club




Biography, Business
Date Published: May 2018



CLAIM INSANITY OR BE FIRED!

Ex-Casino Employee Spills All of the Unseen Corruption

Running Rampant in the Business!



Ideas flow freely through the work environment, and the good ones are scooped up and put into action. But what happens when your ideas are suddenly being claimed by someone else? What if you found out that your employer was hiding secrets from the public? A job is supposed to secure one's finances, but what if it was actually the cause of your financial troubles?

All of these questions - and more! - are addressed in Pascale Batieufaye's tell-all memoir, Outfoxing the Gaming Club: A Former Worker Reveals All. From the kitchen to guest services, Batieufaye exposes the corruption and exploitation present in one of the world's biggest casinos, Resort Casino, where he worked from 1996 to 2004

Through the book's pages, Batieufaye details how corporate executives undermine their employees and use their ideas as their own, as he found was done with his own ideas when he shared them with leadership at the gambling powerhouse. He also details the mistreatment of the Native Americans he witnessed, who built the very grounds that now contribute to their injustice.

"I have centered Outfoxing the Gaming Club on the emotional suffering I faced while working for my previous employer,"shares Batieufaye. "The book outlines guiding principles for those who have experienced maltreatment and anxiety in their own workplace. Readers will discover the crookedness that occurs right under the noses of the patrons, and unearth the oppression that the employees had to deal with on a daily basis."



An exposé for both gamblers and those opposed to it,this book details:



· How his own ideas were stolen from right under Batieufaye's feet

· The mistreatment of Native Americans involved with the company

· Corruption's role in the mental health of himself and other employees at the company

· Gambles employees took when attempting to contribute, knowing all too well they may not receive proper credit for those ideas

· The emotional suffering that workers had to deal with on a daily basis

· And so much more!




About the Author


Pascale Batieufaye attended Johnson & Wales University, where he studied travel and tourism. He is technically an animal rights activist and aspires to open an animal rehabilitation center for rescue animals. His principal occupation has been a part time school bus driver since the end of 2012, which allowed him to write five unpublished manuscripts in his spare time. Before that, Batieufaye ran a video store which closed up at the hype of Netflix’s driven internet power. He has also held some backbreaking jobs, such as courier driver (independent contractor) and Skycap/baggage handler, although nothing seems to take as much of a toll as his work with a major, corrupt casino corporation did, as detailed in his book Outfoxing the Gaming Club.



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Tuesday, June 5, 2018

PROMO: Raging Falcon




Mystery, Thriller, Suspense
Date Published: Sept. 2016
Publisher: Star Born Publishing LLC

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He helped build an evil world.

He betrayed his only son.

But now in another life where nothing is what it seems and against great odds, he has a chance to make things right.

In the 21st century, wars are won in the mind rather than on battlefields.

One man - a sorcerer disguised as solder - will forever alter American history with black magic!

Major Stacey Truman Keogh is a specialist in psychological operations and a terrorist disguised in military uniform. Both ambitious and evil, he will do anything to further his interests whether sacrificing the operatives under his command, his family and even his only son. In the end, will he discover spiritual redemption and use his immense magical powers in the service of good? Can a grand technological miracle save the son he betrayed, so long ago?




About the Author


In just his first year as an independent author, Massachusetts native Stephen Perkins' thrilling, entertaining, imaginative, thought provoking and sometimes controversial novels Sorcerers' Dynasty, Raging Falcon, American Siren and Escape to Death have fast gained a loyal and rabid audience. While enjoying the books, be sure to check out Newsspellcom.org for a unique perspective on the news of the world one shall not surely discover anywhere else! Or, stop by on Twitter (Twitter.com@RAGEOFWORDS)


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